


Burning

by explodingnebulae



Series: Vampire!Agatha [3]
Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Play, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23978275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingnebulae/pseuds/explodingnebulae
Summary: Agatha felt infinite, truly capable of all things, indestructible, as he returned her grin. She felt something in her jolt and rush, buzzing and ringing a clear melody that she could not yet understand. As if it were a foreign language neither of them had learned.
Relationships: Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing
Series: Vampire!Agatha [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723690
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> We did it! We made it to Part Three! It would have been posted last night, but alas work got in the way. There's a lot of smut in this part, like... it's all smut, I'm so sorry (not). Enjoy!

He swept her from where she stood and hoisted her into the air. His lips ascended to hers and she caught the kiss, unsure of what else to do. She had been trapped, forced into the closest thing to a confession since she had last stepped into the small dark confessional box so very long ago. And somehow, through pressuring her, making her face the truth she never wanted to admit, crumbling her resolve and pride to dust…

He freed her.

Something in her ruptured as he parted her lips and drank her in, a groan ringing clear against his mouth as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His claws pressed into the fabric of her slacks, piercing and ripping the fabric easily as he squeezed the supple flesh beneath his hands. Agatha secured herself to him as his mouth parted from hers, trailing down to her chin, her jaw, and came to rest at her neck.

He’d never been so tender as he traced her jugular with a whisper of his lips, breath hot from the blood she gave him at the beach. Her flesh prickled with excitement as he planted a kiss on the expanse of her throat.

“I never promised a bed,” he entreated as he nipped slowly at the nape of her neck, pulling the flesh between his teeth careful enough to not break the skin. “I said there was always next time.” 

“Is this not the next time?” she breathed the question into the air above him. It could hardly be anything else, she was sure of it. 

“As observant as ever,” chimed the Count proudly as he drew his head back to look at her. “Where?”

Agatha’s head clouded when she met his gaze, unsure of what he meant, nearly forgetting the English language altogether. There it was. That admiration and respect for an equal yet a devout prayer on the surface of those dark… 

_His eyes were amber in the light…._

Her jaw slacked as she stared down at him, awestruck by the way her new discovery had shook her. They had been black the night of the convent. Black in the dim firelight aboard the ship. Black as he took her the night on the beach…But in the light of her home, his eyes burned and shone as amber.

“Agatha.” Her name drew her out of his gaze and she hastened to remember what he had asked.

Where?

_Where?_

“ _Naar boven._ ” She reached for the first language she could and found it her native tongue, her accent heavy in which she spoke. Then, more clearly, “Up the stairs. The first door on the left.” 

Dracula navigated with ease from her kitchen, back through the hall, up the stairs, and stopped at the door, pressing her back against it. All the while she reclaimed his lips, knowing she did not have to speak of him or what burned between them for just a moment longer.

 _You’ll be a part of me._

She had not considered the true depths of his statement, had not known what it would mean. In the years she had to sort through his memories, his worst crimes, his darkest and most intimate moments spent as a vampire… Agatha had never considered.

She was the first to open her vein, even under the circumstances, to him. Surely that was enough to render her special. However, he had known the darkest parts of her, her longings, the moment she turned her back on the structure of the Holy Order, and the moment she had her first brush of desire since taking her oath.

Their first night, their only night, together had not only been that. Never had he offered his blood to another. It was his most coveted possession, the very life which flowed through his veins. Four hundred years and he surrendered his existence to her in the matter of a month.

“My dear...” he interrupted, drawing his head back and smiling up at her all teeth and eyes glinting in the darkness. She knew hers did the same but could not stop marveling at him. Had he always been so beautiful? Had half a century sweetened his countenance, made her soft? “...perfect _soţie._ ”

Yes, it had. Or perhaps, it had given her time to think.

She heard the door click beneath her before he released his grip and set her down. Her feet touched the ground but she felt weightless, entirely surrendered to sensation as he traced her cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

“Now you know,” she confessed in less than a breath, her words falling on him in near silence. His hold of her face shifted then, his index finger resting under her chin and drawing it up to meet his eyes.

“I’ve always known,” he returned, voice just as damnably quiet. “Four centuries of biding my time, waiting for you to come to me. How could I not?”

His words sent chills down her spine. The legends were wrong again. Dracula had not taken a virgin, he did not need to. A perfectly corrupt nun and vampire hunter seemed to suffice. She grabbed his hand and watched as his digits took residence between the spaces of her own. He was her beast, more capable of anything she ever anticipated and no amount of Hollywood dramatization or novelization could give him just credit.

She wondered for a moment, her insatiable curiosity peeking through vulnerability, if he was aware of the ever growing superstitions that enshrouded him. Did he know of the legends that had formed around him since Mina, Piotr, and Olgaren escaped and told their tale? Was he aware? Did he even need to be?

No. It was not the time for such thoughts.

“What is it?” His tone changed, taking up the same curiosity that undoubtedly reflected in her eyes. 

“Nothing important, I assure you,” she returned as she became privy to her surroundings once again. “Much has happened since you slept. I was...reflecting.” 

“I expect to know every last detail,” he hummed and pecked her lips. “Please, lead on.”

She led him into the bedroom, stepping backwards as she adjusted her hold of his hand. The bed, unimpressive but sizeable enough, was in the center of the room. She dropped his hand then, as the backs of her legs touched the mattress, and looked up at him, the only light coming from the streets below. 

That look in his eye had not left, even in the darkness, and a sigh fell from her. To think she looked at him with contempt and vindication the last time she drew breath was absurd to her now, though it had been appropriate given the circumstances.

She was not without her share of crimes. Not now, not as he took her in his arms, a wanton kiss of teeth and tongue pressing into her. She hadn’t been for years. He would know of the lives she’s taken, the mourning, the months spent in meditation and penitence. 

“We’re all sinners, Agatha,” declared the Count as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Don’t blame the beast for hunting the rabbit.”

“Stay out of my h--” Her words were lost to another kiss as he skated his fingers under her tucked blouse and pulled the fabric from its confinement. 

‘No. I want to hear everything and you keep a great deal trapped in that beautiful mind of yours.’ He lifted the shirt over her head in an easy motion and discarded it somewhere behind him. Dracula licked at his lips as he placed his hand to her collarbone, his thumb pressing into the divot below her throat. “Let me hear you.”

“Count Dracula, second in name and first to the throne of Wallachia,” she started as she made quick work of his waistcoat. She drew his attention, his eyes alight with the flame that burned entirely for her. “Never again shall you compare me to a beast, am I understood?”

His answer came in the form of his claws gripping around her throat. He brought her mouth to his, a growl sounding in his chest, and kissed her deep. She opened for him as his free hand tore the last bit of fabric from her torso and her breasts bounced at the sudden freedom. Agatha knew she was no better, but the way he obeyed as his mind quieted, crackling only with the heat and desire that churned within him, made her head spin.

 _‘Do I have more clothes available to me?’_ The question struck her as odd, but she nodded against his lips, not daring to break the kiss as her fingers twisted into the thick onyx atop his head. _‘Good.’_

He released his hold of her throat, their lips haphazardly connecting, and tore at his shirt, the buttons clattering to the hardwood beneath them as he shifted out of it. She moved a hand to his chest and carded it through the fur upon his chest, the skin below it just as scarred, just as immovable under her, as she remembered. 

A gasp sounded through her bedroom as he broke from her and lowered his neck. He planted a single kiss at the column of her throat before he began his journey. Her fingers returned to his hair, tightening in it as he descended to his knees. The flesh of her torso felt like velvet under his touch. He had touched the finest silks in the East, through all of Europe and beyond, but none had evoked the same fascination as the expanse of her body. 

Dracula had expected royalty, expected a scholar, a debutante even, but never a nun. No, he had not planned on finding an impertinent, pestering nun at the convent the night he came to bring upon a reckoning and reclaim Jonathan Harker. He had not planned on her. 

Her head tilted, her hair falling as a curtain behind her, as nipped at the edge of her ribs, sucking and pulling at the skin, marking her. Blood that was not hers to have rose and reddened the flesh under the deliciously punishing ministrations of his mouth.

Something twinged tightly inside of her as she thought of what she must look like, bruised and almost bloody, under him, sighing with pleasure. A sight that would have once disgusted her, repulsed her to her very soul, sang so sweetly to her there was little else she could want. He moved to the other side of her torso, just under her breast and bit down, once again sure not to puncture her skin. 

His fingers snapped open the button of her pants and he gave a delighted purr against her skin as they slacked around her waist. 

“No,” she breathed unexpectedly, even to herself. He broke from her then, his gaze turning up to her, perplexed. “I want…” 

Dracula’s eyes widened as a smile stretched across his face. He said nothing as he pushed himself from the ground, meeting her gaze, breath coming hard from his lungs. They stood in near silence then, each observing the other, waiting. He wanted to, no, he needed to hear her say it and she damned herself for having ever spoken.

“Say it,” he entreated, voice low as he all but begged her. The smile was gone from his lips, replaced with muted amusement. “Tell me what you want.” 

She closed her eyes for a moment as she felt the same brand of shame she had experienced only moments ago wash away from her. Why was it so hard for her? Was her pride so strong and was she so damnably stubborn that she could not simply instruct the man to whom she was so attracted to…

To feed from her?

“You didn’t need my permission last time,” she said as she tried to hint to him, without outwardly saying so. 

“Are the English so unwilling to be brash? Have they caused you to lose your edge, Agatha? You seemed to have no issue downstairs.” Had she not been a vampire, his closeness would have toppled her, dropped her to the mattress behind her. 

She remembered what he had done at the beach, how his blood had dripped from his wrist and how it beckoned her. With a breath, she bit into her lip hard enough to draw blood and moved so her mouth was nearly against his. His tongue snaked to her mouth and traced the inside of her lip, sweeping away what little blood there was. She had been feeding regularly and should have known the wound would close as quickly as it formed. 

“Tell me.”

“Taste me,” she muttered against his lips, damning the smile that they pulled into. “I’m no longer the human you’ve had in your veins for half a century. People change.”

“You don’t,” he returned, amused by the recount of their time on the _Demeter_. “Are you sure? I’ll know everything. Every moment, every thought, every piece of you for the last fifty years.”

“What was it you said earlier? Oh, yes. Every last detail.”

“How were you ever a nun?” he mused as he shifted away from her, pushing her slacks down her body, and watched as she stepped from them, her shoes going with them. The Count took a step back and peered at her through the darkness. “Not even God cannot take credit for you, _dragă mea._ ”

“You let me drink from you. Are you to tell me that you hid information in your blood?”

He paused as her finger hooked into his waistband. She noticed his chest stop as he was poised with the question. For all that she saw in his memories, Agatha had known he had spared no details. She saw slaughter, villages, men, women, and children alike torn apart as he brought chaos upon the Earth. 

“No.” 

“Then why would I?” She unhooked the button and shrugged the slacks down his hips. She reminded herself that he was not wearing undergarments but could not help herself as she glanced between them at what awaited her. Agatha returned to his eyes and watched his coy smirk return. “Has anyone told you that you have no shame?”

“I do believe you just told me I have quite a bit,” he returned and glowered, albeit playfully. He stepped out of his pants, then his shoes, and kicked them to the side. Her breath hitched as he closed the space between them, his hand gently caressing her hip. “Though, I suppose only time can tell. Now, where were we?”

He lowered them to the mattress, Agatha moving back as he climbed over her, and kissed her once, twice, a third time before he withdrew from her. He reached behind him, removed the socks from his feet, and let them fall.

“We can wait,” he started again as he returned to her. 

Wait? For what?

She scowled up at him, unsure of what exactly he was referencing. Whether it be driving into her or drinking her blood, Agatha did not want to wait. She had spent fifty years waiting. 

“Speak plainly.” As if she was one to talk.

“Until I’m inside of you.” But he delivered. “Blood is lives, Agatha, but I’m not going to be drinking your blood to merely gain insight or feed. I’ve never had another vampire’s blood. And seeing how you responded...”

_Wantonly, devoutly, unabashedly, animal._

“You think it will heighten the experience,” she stated without wanting to tell him that it had. When she had drunk his blood that night, it had sent her to a place upon high that she had not been able to attain since. 

“You know it will,” he smirked as he took her lips, a hand sliding between them to her core. His finger dipped between her folds and traced idly over her clit, applying no pressure but it excited her all the same. “I could take you right now, you’re certainly ready enough.”

“Then why don’t you?” Somewhere caught between a question and a demand. She closed her eyes as he slipped the digit inside of her, not needing to see the smile caught on his lips to know it was there. 

“We have all night,” he lulled tenderly as his lips moved from hers. He shifted them up the bed with his free hand, careful not to scratch the inside of her as he began to twist his finger deeper into her. He laid at her side, supporting himself with his forearm, and watched her face as he slowly worked her. “I only had an hour to work with before. I have an entire night and every intention of giving you what was so unfortunately absent last time.” 

_‘I'm going to take my precious time with you, Agatha Van Helsing. And I will make you last until sunrise.’_

Agatha’s legs wavered as she felt him move inside of her. He had only his middle finger plunging into her warm depths, but she revered the leisurely rhythm he set. She peered up to see him studying her as if she were a novel and found herself smiling at the sight. His focus on her was, appropriately, otherworldly as he sank deeper into her, shifting himself minutely to ensure he went to the knuckle. 

She whimpered as he stroked at her walls, holding the sound in her throat in the hopes he gave her more.

“That wasn’t the agreement,” he gnarled mutely as he shifted down. His leg caught hers and bound it to the mattress below, opening her wider for him. Her hips jutted towards him as he inserted another digit, pumping it into her with the same tedious pace at the first. “You agreed to let me hear everything.”

 _‘I granted you permission to hear my thoughts,’_ she corrected, her closed lips grinning as her indignance granted her a harder thrust of his fingers. Agatha was right and he knew it. She wondered… 

Could _he_ last until sunrise?

 _‘Then tell me.’_ Another hard thrust. She clutched to his wrist and savored how his muscles and tendons flexed under her grip as he moved inside of her. Like waves, they eased and tensed against her thumb in a perfect, unbroken rhythm. _‘How does it feel?’_

Her back lifted when he brushed her sweet spot and a groan crept into her throat. She moved his wrist so the palm of his hand was at her clit and another soft sound broke through her as he obliged her. Even if it was for the shortest moment as he easily shifted back into his previous position. 

“How do you feel when I have you like this, Agatha?” He found her lips, kissing her deep and she grounded herself by it, drinking in every bit of sensation he could give to her. 

_‘Depraved.’_ She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t speaking the entire truth either. He was going to open her vein soon enough and she would be found out. _‘Incredible.’_

He removed his fingers from her and broke from the kiss. Agatha gave a breath of protest that grew into an audible sigh as she watched him draw them up for inspection. She could see the glint in his eye that gave way to what came next.

“No. You had your fill at the beach. I forbid you.” 

“I most certainly have not had my fill,” he retorted absently, paying her no mind as he watched how his fingers glistened, her juices stringing as he separated his fingers. “I don’t even think that’s remotely possible now.” 

“We’ll add it to the list of your addictions later,” she huffed, not understanding how this was even a subject for debate. Anything to draw a response from her…or maybe he meant it. 

“You certainly are climbing that roster fast,” he murmured as he returned to her, pressing to her lips in a quick kiss. “What would you have me do with them?” 

He grazed the inside of her thigh with the back of his hand trailing from her knee to her core. All the while, he took the utmost care not to let her own wetness touch the smooth of her skin until he slipped the fingers idly down the outskirts of her folds. 

“Return them,” came her command, tired of his dawdling. She had him in her bed for no longer than ten minutes and he was already teasing her. He paused at her entrance and sank, with no pressing urgency, his index finger into her.

“Here?” The grin of a panther. He curled his finger against her spot and laughed when she contemplated smacking him. She agonized when he stilled his finger and withdrew it at her thought. “No?”

“Yes,” she corrected hotly and grabbed his hand. 

“Yes?” He asked innocently as he teased her entrance, dipping his finger in and out of her.

“Stop wasting time,” she barked. 

“Ah, already so impatient. What a long night it’s going to be for you, Agatha.” He returned his fingers to her with a laugh, sinking into her slowly, as if he hadn’t just been inside of her. Then, he went deeper, giving her just a taste of what she wanted. “Fortunately for me, I have all the time in the world and I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”

Before she could come up with another retort, Dracula shifted on the mattress entirely, looming over her as he worked slowly inside of her. Agatha gazed up at him, cursed how obscenely handsome he looked, and gave a sigh when he pressed his lips to her forehead. 

“If it were possible, I think it very likely that I would hate you,” she breathed.

“If it were possible,” he echoed glibly and began to trail kisses along her hairline, nipping once at her earlobe and then once more at her jaw. Dracula curled his fingers as he thrust into her. “How lucky for me that you don’t.”

Her head dug into the pillow as he ensured to hit her with each stroke into her. She wanted to damn him, curse him to the very depths of Hell itself for how he so easily set her on edge. She would damn herself in the process for she was a puppet in his hands, responding to every motion of his lips as he played at her neck. A soft moan for each suckle, her fingers carding through his head. He had fed on her half a century ago and never left a mark. 

Another curl of his fingers and Agatha groaned into the air of her bedroom, letting the sound spill from her without reservation. They were no longer on the beach, no longer in the public’s eye and within the confines of her own home, she was at last free. 

“Ooo. Now there’s an interesting thought. Do I set you free? Do I liberate you?” He asked breathily as his kiss danced at her collarbone, driving even harder into her. Another cry fell from her lips as her legs constricted around his arm. She could feel her walls tightening around his fingers, the pressure behind her impending orgasm so painful she could hardly stand it. “Do I?”

She lost herself as he eased another finger inside and came around him. He dug his teeth into the flesh above her breast, breaking skin not drinking, as he forced her down on the mattress, leaving her to squirm and writhe against him. “Christ, _yes!_ ” 

“Wrong name, but I’m certain you’ll get it right before the night’s over.” His laughter rang clearly into the room. She relished in the sting of his bite mark as he removed his fingers from her, leaving her orgasm to spill from her and onto the sheets below. Her chest heaved as he kissed the mark and she could feel his tongue sweep away whatever blood had resided there.

Dracula took a breast into his mouth, his now free hand grabbing at the other and teasing her nipple with the slick wetness that soaked his fingers. The mix of sensation, fire and ice, felt like magic, a rush of pleasure heightening the afterglow of her release. He ran his tongue over her, flicking and suckling as he coaxed soft breaths from her. A maestro with a one woman orchestra.

He took special care as his tongue left her breast, kissing it supple flesh beneath him before glancing up. Agatha met him, looking down, and groaned at the mere sight of him. His hair disheveled, eyes dark, a smile fixed on his face as though he'd been stuck that way for centuries. She tugged at his scalp, unsure if she wanted him to continue his descent or steal every last possible molecule of air that resided in his lungs. It's not like he needed them.

Her short moment spent in unclear speculation was forgotten as he made the decision for her. Dracula moved up her body and took her lips with an unnerving slowness. She captured his bottom lip in her teeth and tugged as the skin, pulling it away from the jagged points that lie below.

 _‘Beast,’_ she thought with a smirk that forced her to surrender his kiss. Agatha felt infinite, truly capable of all things, indestructible, as he returned her grin. She felt something in her jolt and rush, buzzing and ringing a clear melody that she could not yet understand. As if it were a foreign language neither of them had learned. 

“You’re one to talk,” he crooned softly as he brought the pad of his thumb deftly over her lips, gently hooking the bottom just enough to reveal her teeth to him. He let out a small breath, his admiration clear. “Sharp as knives. Agatha, they’re beautiful.” 

He kissed her. “Absolutely, infuriatingly, beautiful.” 

Her fangs? A simple byproduct of her arousal. A simple byproduct of being a vampire.

He deepened the kiss, his thumb playing gently at her cheek. _‘Don’t play the fool, darling. You’re much too smart for that.’_

He broke the kiss. “You, Agatha Van Helsing, are captivating and I will never have enough of you.”

“The one toy you will never put down?” Her question came by instinct. The reality was that his sentiment had caused too much stirring in her lifeless body. She was warmed, comforted, by his words, as though she had gone far too long without knowing she needed to hear them. 

“Something like that,” he huffed and pecked her again. Dracula returned to her side, his hand guiding her to face him. “Call it fate, if you have to categorize it. Do you even believe in such a thing?”

“Is now the appropriate time for such talks?” Her brow raised at him.

“Now is exactly the time for such talks. Tell me,” he hummed as his claws trailed down the silhouette of her frame. She had long since had the body of a young woman, she knew, but he seemed entranced all the same. 

“I do believe in fate. How else can I explain our meeting? I was the one person in a thousand miles who knew how to kill you and Jonathan Harker was directed to my convent on the off chance it happened to be something other than a miracle.” 

“You don’t believe in miracles,” he interjected, his voice sober, but his fingers still a whisper at her skin, raising it wherever they roamed. 

She relaxed into his touch. “No, I don’t.”

Over the swell of her breast, tender upon her ribs, a feather at her hips. 

Agatha let out a soft sigh. 

“You were a nun for most of your mortal life. Why the lack of faith?” 

A light pressure at her skin drew her attention as he smoothed his hand over her supple cheek, lulled her as his familiar touch trailed up her spine. So light, so conflictingly tender against his low voice.

“I had lived a very long life in a few short years. You remember them, surely. I’m almost positive you’ve drank enough from me to know the exact second of my birth. Miracles didn’t exist.” She blinked at him, his touch feeling cold for only a moment. His expression dropped, his hand stopping at her shoulder blade.

A fortunate life? No. 

A life full of personal successes and freedoms? Yes. 

“Didn’t?” 

“Why are you asking me this? You know the answer. As I said, the second of my birth,” she returned. His hand was still at her shoulder, gently coaxing her nearer.

He shifted closer to her and his arms came around her. Count Dracula, slayer of thousands, was… 

Embracing her.

Her arms reflexively tightened. It was one of the habits from the nunnery she had tried so hard to break. Then relaxed and held him to her, breathing him in. It was his natural scent. The one he carried at the beach, the one on him as he clutched to her face before the explosion, the one that fed on her in the depths of the convent.

How did he no longer smell of the sea? The blood perhaps?

No, he hadn’t drank nearly enough for that.

No, the sensation held a vague familiarity in it. Strange and juxtaposed to reality. But she was aware of her surroundings, in control of herself. No, it was him entirely. 

_‘Relax, Agatha. Respiri, dragă mea.’_ He instructed soundlessly. _‘You’re allowed to like the way I smell.’_

She grabbed at his leg with her own and yanked. Did his ego never rest?

“Ah, so I was right?”

“Quiet.” 

“As my Queen commands.”

He pressed to her forehead, his hips swaying towards the warmth of her abdomen. She felt his erection press against her and instinctively shifted her hips. Agatha tucked each leg on either side of his waist and pulled him closer to her.

“Now?” His breath was thick as his hand wound gently into her thick brunette locks.

She backed away just enough to fit her hand between them and trace her fingertips around his length before guiding him to her entrance. Agatha sank onto his cockhead with a shaking groan, unaccustomed to the feeling of him not already being slick before entering her. It was a different kind of pain that her own body accounted for as she rolled her hips down, slowly taking him deeper into her heat.

“I want to show you something,” he sighed and rocked into her as she descended. “Let me kiss you.”

She would have torn her heart from her chest if it meant he would meet her hips like that. Agatha knew the risks of what he was implying. She knew that he could take off in an instant, raze the block before sunrise.

But… She trusted him. An incomprehensible thought to her human self. 

“Yes.” 

Tender though his kiss was, instinct took over when his lips met hers. She took his mouth hungrily as she sank onto him as deep as her body would allow and he pushed the rest of the way. Agatha ground her hips as her world plunged into darkness, her own moan echoing around her. Sensation was all that she had now, heightened as his opiate ran through her. 

So it could work on other vampires. 

_‘What do you feel?’_ his inquiry imparted into space around them, something like electricity sparking around her, cascading around her like fizzling fireworks fading in the night sky. Except, they never went out. She felt like summer, like the very sun was touching her skin without a single drop of light around them.

_‘What do you?’_

A laugh as his hand gripped her thigh, somehow pulling her even closer to him. He angled himself as his hips rocked back and thrust into her. Dracula filled her completely, delicious warmth crashing over them both as they easily found perfect rhythm. 

_‘That’s what I’m showing you. Indulge me, Agatha. What do you feel?’_

Another thrust as she pressed her forehead as she parted his lips, deepening the kiss. 

_‘Sunlight.’_

She groaned into his mouth as he rolled them on the mattress and sank into her until she could feel his pelvis against her, her head hitting the pillows. Agatha clung to him, not wanting to lose the sensation that flooded her body should her lips dare leave his, such infinite heat. 

_‘Divinity.’_

Dracula broke the kiss, Agatha being drawn to reality once more, and pressed his forehead to hers as his rhythm faltered. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her hands surrendering to the tense muscles beneath them as he claimed her. “Centuries I’ve waited for you.”

“Wait until you’re fucking me midday. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it twice as much.” She couldn’t help the quip, her words melting into a sigh as her walls began to clench around him. Her chest pressed to him, eyes clenched, head digging into the pillows as he ground his hips into her, the pain it caused evaporating to pleasure instantly.

 _‘Such a mouth,’_ another hard thrust as his pace became near punishing. Agatha twisted beneath him. Her back arched as she rocked her hips sporadically against his, chasing her own release as she tightened around the throbbing cock within her. _‘So you did wake me to fuck and kill me. And here I thought you were above lying.’_

 _‘Can you blame me?’_

_‘Hardly.’_ Dracula shifted, stilled inside of her, and her eyes shot open. “A promise is a promise and I am a man of my word.”

“Do it,” she commanded, her head turning, neck outstretched. How he pulsated within her aching heat, it was all she could do to keep her trembling form steady. 

She felt a breath against her skin and moaned in the darkness as he kissed her. She clutched to him with a type of desperation she’d never known as he sank his teeth into her. Something between a scream and a groan tore through her as he rolled back his hips and slammed into her tightness again and again. He claimed her, marked her, with every penetrating thrust, fucking her deeper, her body shaking beneath him. 

“I mi-missed you… m-m--” her words came in choked gasps, twisting and crying out as she felt her blood flow from her veins to his. Inside of her in every possible way, surrendering to her. He forfeited every possible ounce of himself to her, the highest form of homage he could pay. 

Her orgasm crashed around her endlessly, agonizing and absolute. His arms wrapped around her and as he pulled them back until she was sitting atop his lap, his cock still seated deeply inside of her. 

_‘How exquisite you are. Fifty years of nightmares and this is the dream to which I wake. Lay claim to what’s yours, Agatha.’_

His reverent prayer rang clearly in her head, pushing through the impassioned storm raging within her, and she began to move her unsteady hips against him. She shifted to take him deeper and his teeth tore at her neck, blood and saliva spilling from the artery. The pain alone was enough to make her cry out but his snarl sent her over an edge she didn’t know she was teetering. Her encore was a rush unlike anything she’d experienced, her juices spilling around him to the point he pulled out to let the excess run out before plunging back into her depths. He withdrew from her neck, the wound left open, the column of her throat in his hand, and demanded her mouth as he snapped her attention to him.

Her blood smeared against her face as she kissed him, the remnants of the liquid spilling into her mouth as she opened at his prying teeth. Metallic and unimpressive to her own palette, but blood all the same. Blood was lives and she read her own as her teeth tore into his lip, drinking in their combined flavors. 

His hand shifted to the back of her neck as he broke from the kiss, looking between them to watch as she rode him. Her hips ground into his with increasing instability. She took him deeper with each erratic movement until her legs shook, his name spilling from her lips.

“Like that. Keep…” another hard kiss, the words a growl in his throat. “...just like that, _just_ …” 

He grunted when she brought a hand to his throat and turned his head in her hold. Agatha understood what he had meant when he said she smelled like him. While she found her own blood of no interest to her in his kiss, she found it to be much more enticing when in his veins. 

“You don’t have to ask, Agatha,” he panted and held tightly to her hips, driving into her as she pushed down on him. 

Would she ever tire of hearing her name leave his lips? 

No. She decided as she descended upon his throat, drinking him in the moment she broke flesh. The inferno within him burned hotter than it had in the kiss and she revered the way it poured down her throat. 

_The knife. His hunger gnarled angrily to his core as he first tasted her. Unabashed before the entire convent, needing to know her. An interest the second she stepped into the courtyard. A deeper wickedness in her than he could have dreamed as he drank from her vein._

Agatha vowed never to indulge in blood. It was a medication not an addiction, an unfortunate side effect of her existence.

 _He wanted her during his time aboard the_ Demeter, _considered it heavily through the game, but would not have her in a dream. Never had he thought such things. Humans were prey. But Agatha Van Helsing?_

Agatha had made many vows and had broken just as many. 

_How the name stuck to his lips, reverberated in his mind even as he had slept in his cabin for a week. Not in conquest, in respect, in admiration. He knew their game would play on for eternity if fate allowed. Only one could reign victorious and such an opponent would never surrender. She was a beautiful balance of power and cunning, and he could not stay away. Even if it took four hundred years more, he would find her again._

His blood was old, but hers revived it and she was tasting their memories, their game, their careful dance upon a tightrope.

_She returned to him in an instant, immortal. Her soul was not as saved as he had conjectured. He could call her a bride, but that was beneath her. She scorched the earth on which he tread and now he could burn freely. A life without her in it seemed a dull life indeed, and he knew he could not, would not allow her to slip away again. He knew her secrets, knew her more intimately than anyone could, but it wasn’t enough. More than he coveted her, he needed her._

It was hard to focus as he shoved her onto the bed, his neck shifting. Blood fell to the sheets as her teeth detached from him. Dracula gave no time for her to gather her thoughts before he thrust deep into her. With every short stroke, Agatha felt him spill deep into her, reveling in the bestial growl that erupted from his mouth. She had not anticipated the deep, vocal sigh that followed. Her walls ached as he pulled out of her, a mix of their release coming from her entrance behind him.

She noticed his vein still open, the slow trickle flowing into the hollow of his collarbone and onto her chest, calling to her. Asking her to break her vows once again. 

As a nun, she had turned her back on nearly every form of temptation, her wicked curiosity the exception. As a vampire, Agatha learned to control temptation. But as his blood began to run into the fur of his chest, she found herself overcome, as though something awakened within her. A deeper and more powerful hunger than she could fathom was beset upon her, and she could not resist. 

He needed to feed. He had gorged himself on the _Demeter_ but that was half a century ago. If she drank more from his veins, he would become famished, insatiable. Just a taste of what spilled out would be enough... 

“You’re a vampire, this is…” 

He had been in her thoughts, a silent audience until she came to an impasse.

“Don’t insult me by saying _natural_ ,” she returned in a heavy breath, her eyes flooding a deep red.

“I’m saying what you’re experiencing is _my_ hunger. You drank my blood, you have my thoughts, my needs, coursing through your veins,” he explained quietly, his voice like gravel as he raised a hand to his neck. He wiped at the blood with two fingers and brought them to her lips, a wicked grin upon his own.

She took the digits carefully into her mouth, her tongue wrapping around them. Agatha nursed and licked until they were clean and then some. The feeling of him inside of her, in any form, could not dissuade the hunger building inside of her. She drowned in the radiance of their sin.

“This is not sin,” he interjected as he pulled the digits from her mouth and moved his head to lick her own wound clean. Her fingers nestled into his hair, holding him close as he planted his lips to her neck wherever he went. He ran the hand down her torso, skin like silk beneath his fingers as he descended to her core. “You’ll need something to eat soon. My appetite isn’t easily sated.”

He pressed against her clit before he withdrew his hand and shifted down her body. His head came to rest between her legs and Agatha quivered as his tongue flicked the nub. 

“C-clearly.” The smell of their blood around her, Dracula working at her core, his thoughts of her playing in her mind… Control was slipping from her grasp, unwinding like a loose spool of yarn falling over a cliff.

And Agatha Van Helsing never lost control.

**Author's Note:**

> Not the cliffhanger I wanted to leave on, or any cliffhanger at all, really. Regardless, part four is going to be a gory, bloody mess and I hope you're all excited as I am.
> 
> Oh yeah, "soţie" means wife.


End file.
